


A Sweet Deal

by Callisto



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode Tag, Episode: s06e15 The French Mistake, M/M, Season/Series 06
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-05
Updated: 2011-04-05
Packaged: 2017-10-17 15:22:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/178251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callisto/pseuds/Callisto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“Hey, Jared. Wanna go get a burger?”</i></p><p><i>“Don’t mind if I do, Jensen.”</i></p><p><i>It’s going to be a thing for a while, Sam can tell. But it’s fine. Now they’re out of that freak show he can enjoy the whole Jared and Jensen thing a little.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	A Sweet Deal

**Author's Note:**

> A certain moment stuck in my mind during this marvellous episode, and I thought it might stick in Dean's too.

It takes two hazelnut no foam lattes and a salad for Sam to realize what Dean is doing. He’d kiss him there and then except the second latte arrives when they’re interviewing Margery Price, and he doubts two male FBI agents kissing will get them anything but a heart attack. So he waits until Margery drops her reading glasses before he cuffs Dean across the back of the head. Dean shoots him a glare that would burn asbestos and Sam just smiles, because it’s the next best thing in their world.

Their world

“Hey, Jared. Wanna go get a burger?”

“Don’t mind if I do, Jensen.”

It’s going to be a thing for a while, Sam can tell. But it’s fine. Now they’re out of that freak show he can enjoy the whole Jared and Jensen thing a little.

“Do you...um...want to drive?”

...except when Dean is ridiculous about it.

“Dean.” Sam stops walking. Dean turns.

“What? It’s been a long day and I’m tired. Least you can do is drive me to dinner, asshole.”

Sam thinks about smacking him on the head again, but it’s been raining all day and he’s tired of getting wet. Dean’s hand is scraping down his face and Sam knows that any second that muscle is going to tick along his jaw. Because classic tells aside, Dean’s ‘long day’ has consisted of exactly two hours in a library, one in a laundromat, a late lunch on the outskirts of town, and now an interview in a retirement home.

Sam shakes his head and doesn’t take the keys.

 

Later that evening, Dean is lying on the bed contemplating the ceiling while Sam is at the laptop trying to work out why two elderly women are receiving letters from long dead spouses.

“She was hot, you know,” Dean says suddenly.

Sam blinks. His mind is still on Margery, which...wait, what?

“Um, who?” He looks over at Dean, who looks back for a microsecond before fixing his gaze on the ceiling again.

“Fake Ruby. Mrs Padaleski.”

“Lecki, Dean. Ruby Padalecki. I mean, Genevieve Padalecki.” Jesus. What a thing to work on getting right.

“Whatever. She was smokin’, Sam.”

Sam turns back to the monitor and pretends to look engrossed in a whole bunch of death certificates, because here it finally comes...

“Uh-huh,” is all he says.

“I mean she was, right?”

“Totally.”

The pause is beyond pregnant and Sam almost takes pity on Dean. But he didn’t wait out the powers of heaven and hell and one John Winchester for nothing.

“So, did you? You know, when I was asleep? Is all I'm asking. Because it's cool, I get it, man, I do. No matter how fucking twisted you and Ruby were, I do kinda get jonesing for the demon-free version in a tight skirt and heels. I just... Tell me, is all. Goddamnit.”

And Dean sounds so pissed and disappointed with himself for even letting that much out that Sam can keep still no longer.

He stands, snaps the laptop shut, and simply toes his shoes off when he reaches the end of the bed. Then he climbs his way up and over his brother.

“Hey! I’m resting here. You can fucking tell me from over there.”

Sam does the gentlemanly thing and settles himself on his elbows either side of Dean’s head, keeping most of his upper body off his brother. He lets his hips settle right onto Dean’s, though, getting a kick out of the way Dean instinctively accommodates him.

So yeah, that scowl on Dean’s face is kind of pretend. As is the put upon sigh. But Sam has always known such things about his brother. So he waits for Dean to look up, watches Dean swallow hard when he does. If it isn’t to make out, jump his bones or tend a face wound, Dean has a hard time keeping eye contact like this. All that emo and no place to go, Sam figures.

Sam moves his right arm so he can scratch his fingers through Dean’s hair a little. “I don’t need a wall to know a bad memory when I see one.”

Dean doesn’t say anything, just keeps staring at Sam. He raises his chin a little, as if he’s nodding. The muscle in his jaw jumps again.

“That why then?”

Sam kisses him.

“No. Try again.”

“She was having her fuckin’ period? I don’t know. C’mon, get off me, Sam.”

Sam gives up being a gentleman. He adds upper body weight to the equation and makes the next kiss a little deeper and a lot dirtier. He pulls back just enough to speak, loving that Dean isn’t pissed enough not to chase his mouth.

Sam grins. “You want me to say the actual words, Dean? Seriously? Because I will, I swear. I am freakishly strong and I will hold you here and whisper words of sweet nothing at you until you cry. And dude, I will make them _rhyme_.

Dean blinks up at him. He chuffs a disbelieving sound. “Yeah, right.”

Sam has no choice but to clear his throat and think fast. “My Dean is like a red, red rose that’s newly sprung in June...”

“Hey, who the fuck’re you calling a flower?”

“My Dean is like Metallica that’s sweetly played in tune.”

Dean turns his head this way and that, trying to look indignant and squirmy, but the smile quirking up his lips is giving him away. Sam chases his face, following him turn for turn. “Oh Dean, thou art mean,” he pouts.

Dean stops. “You’re making this shit up, right?”

“That last one? Yeah. All mine.”

Their smiles fade as something else takes over. Sam feels Dean’s chest expand beneath his when Dean hitches in a long breath. Dean’s hands come off the mattress to settle low on Sam’s back, and Dean then rolls up to rub their hips together. Sam is hard and he can feel Dean getting there. But there is no urgency to any of this. They have all night, four solid walls, and a line of real salt on some very real windows.

They also have no money, moldy towels, warring angels, and god knows what trying to gank two old ladies.

And Sam will take it all over a big house and a beautiful woman. He’ll take his wall, with all its risks and uncertainties, just like he’ll take his grumpy dumbass brother. The one convinced Sam’s dream deferred is still real, still his to get, give back and make up for, no matter how many times Sam wraps him up and rolls his eyes.

One more time, then.

“Oh, never say that I was false of heart,” he says quietly, kissing Dean’s _nose_ , for fuck’s sake.

Dean doesn’t make fun of him. Just holds his breath. “Yeah?”

“Yes, you idiot. Besides I worked, remember? Stayed up all night researching non-apocalypses and non-earthquakes while you snored your ass off in front of Leno.”

Sam grinds down, catches Dean’s soft exhalation of surprise in a long open-mouthed kiss.

Dean breaks it first, breathless. “Sam?”

“Yes, Dean?”

“Whoever comes first gets breakfast.”

Sam takes his mouth off Dean’s neck for a moment. “Mine’s a caramel Mocha,” he says, licking into his skin.

“Yours is whatever I fucking feel like bringing you, bitch.”

Sam grins, goes for Dean’s zip.

Jared can absolutely keep his alpacas.

 

*******


End file.
